


Take Me with U

by tracy7307



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Virgin Billy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracy7307/pseuds/tracy7307
Summary: Billy bobbled a bit as he stood to mind the fire on unsteady legs. He tripped over his own feet then flopped back on his ass, his back pressed to Steve’s legs, laughing, face flaming with embarrassment. Steve threw his other leg over Billy’s shoulder, his calf pulling Billy back for a moment. “You gotta serve your penalty now. Too drunk. Two minutes in the box, Hargrove. Stay put.”Billy wrapped his fingers around Steve’s ankle, on top of his jeans. “That’s what I get for trying to be light on my feet like you.”“Callin me light in the loafers?”“I’m callin you a pussy.” Billy’s hand remained on Steve’s ankle. His back was still pressed against Steve’s shin, and his fingers started to drift under the hem of Steve’s jeans -- touching a small bit of skin underneath. Maybe he shouldnotbe doing this. Maybe Steve wouldn’t like it.But the moment Billy shifted forward, Steve tugged Billy back into place with the leg that was flung over Billy’s shoulder -- pulled Billy’s back tight against Steve’s leg. “Stay.”





	Take Me with U

The windows were cracked in the Camaro. Cool air rushed in -- it was still too early in the morning for the summer sun to have warmed it. The car zipped up along US-131 North as rows of green corn stalks waved in their wake. So far Billy had passed a pickup truck, a tractor, and a Chevette, but other than that, the road remained blessedly quiet. Leaving at 8am was a good call on Steve’s part -- the guy might be a bit uptight sometimes, Billy thought, but in this case, it worked in their favor. The vast expanses of golden and green farmland gave way to clusters of maple trees as Michigan loomed close. 

Billy watched as Steve popped the cassette and flipped it to B-Side. Guitar riffs poured from the Camaro’s speakers, followed by Annie Lennox’s voice.

 _Would I lie to you? Would I lie to you honey?_

Billy tapped his steering wheel along with the beat.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Billy _Kill ‘Em All_ Hargrove actually likes the _Eurythmics_?” 

Billy rolled his eyes. “I’m fuckin falling asleep here. Maybe you should do your basic duties as a passenger and, I don’t know, keep your driver entertained.” 

Steve ignored Billy and plowed forward. “Y’know, I bet you like Dave Stewart? Badass guitar player. Curly blond hair. Leather jacket. Seems up your alley.” 

“Wrong,” Billy waved a hand at Steve. “Annie Lennox is the _actual_ badass.”

Steve shook his head and looked back out the passenger window at the rows of trees flitting by. Brown hair curled up a little at the base of neck, lifting a bit in the breeze. Billy remembered how that hair looked from the showers, after the game, on friendly terms, finally, ducking his head from under the water to say, “ _ **four** three pointers tonight, Billy, nice,_” with a wet nudge of his elbow. It curled even more then, darker brown. Water dripped from the ends down onto skin, over moles, rolling down, down, and Billy didn’t watch -- kept his chin tilted up, eyes on Steve’s face, fixed -- only when Tommy left did he let his gaze stray to the hair at the base of Steve’s neck, long enough to touch his shoulders.

Billy gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and puffed out a breath. 

When Steve started singing along quietly to the next song, Billy knocked his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose a bit and looked over. “That chick you work with didn’t put up too much of a bitch fit at you taking three days off?” 

Steve reached for the bag of chips and dug in, shrugged a shoulder. “ _Robin_. No, she didn’t. I told her we were going camping up in Michigan for three days and she got this look on her face, and was like, _yeah I got you covered, Stevie. Have fun with that._ She didn’t even ask for any favors or anything. I thought I’d end up covering her Saturdays for two months in a row or some bullshit like that.” 

“She’s biding her _time_ , pretty boy. Just wait and -- hey can you watch it? You’re getting fuckin crumbs all over my car.” 

Steve raised his hands up defensively. “Hey man you said bring snacks. Didn’t say what kind, so. Complain less. Maybe, like, a _thank you Steve_ or something.” 

Billy snatched up the chips and jammed a few into his mouth, crumbs spilling onto his white tee. “Fuckin messy ass bullshit, _Harrington_ ,” he mumbled and tried to scowl, but Steve smiled his big dumb goofy smile at him. “Ugh.”

“Did your boss at the pool give you any problems?” 

Billy grinned slyly at the memory. “Nah. I just put my hands on her desk, leaned forward slowly, flexed for her, and asked _nicely_.” 

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Jesus. That’s so gross.” 

“Hey, I got the days off, didn’t I?” Billy took a drink of soda to wash down the chips. “ _It’s **pop** here, call it **pop**_ ,” Steve had said last week in his kitchen, fingers lingering too long on the bottle above Billy’s hand when he handed it over, and it was the first time Steve had flirted with Billy, standing too close, smile reaching up to his eyes, blushing, not letting the bottle go. So Billy had slid his finger up over Steve’s and leaned forward, half-lidded his eyes, whispered _soda_ an inch from Steve’s cheek, just to make that blush spread -- Henderson looked horrified when he walked in on them, and Steve looked adorable all flustered and bumbling. 

“Whatever works, man,” Steve said. He laid his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes, and Billy indulged for a moment -- let his gaze linger along the stretch of Steve’s neck dotted with little moles. Skin that was so pale with winter, now the color of coffee with cream from the work of the summer sun, early mornings and lazy afternoons when Steve had called and said, “ _come over when you’re done with work._ ” Or “ _come over before you leave for your shift. Let’s hang out by my pool,_ ” and Billy always did even though he spent his entire _day_ hanging out by a pool at work, because. 

Because when Steve called, Billy just couldn’t seem to say no. And the more Billy said yes, the more Steve called, the more Billy was at Loch Nora, the closer Billy felt pulled, and Billy thought of a million analogies -- Icarus to the sun. A moth to a flame. A fish on a line. None of these things ended well, so maybe he’d end up scorched or cooked for dinner or some shit. If spending increasing amounts of time with Steve was going to melt the wax in his wings, so fucking be it. 

If he couldn’t fly in Indiana, he could always drive back to California. 

Steve’s breathing became slow and steady as he started to doze. Billy returned his focus to the road, and as the _Welcome to Michigan_ sign flew past, Billy daydreamed of sleeping under the stars so close to Steve -- next to those plush lips and soft brown hair. 

**~*~**

“More,” Billy said and leaned over a bit, opening his mouth with an eye on the road.

Steve popped a couple of french fries in Billy’s mouth. “Jesus. How many more are you gonna eat?”

“I’m a growing boy,” he said around a mouthful of fries, and yeah he’d finished all of his fries and was now making his way into Steve’s, so maybe Steve had a point. McDonald’s seemed like a good idea now as they’d only be eating the food they’d brought in the cooler for the next three days. “Gotta have food. One more with ketchup.”

Cool wetness caught the corner of Billy’s mouth before Steve jammed it in. “Steve, jesus christ. _Gross_. Can you, uh,” Billy tapped the side of his cheek. 

“I’m not wiping ketchup off of your mouth, dipshit. You have hands.”

“Hands that are on the _wheel_. C’mon. Help your driver out.” Billy leaned over again a bit and presented the side of his face. 

“High fucking maintenance.” Steve dabbed the corner of Billy’s mouth with a napkin. 

Billy licked at the spot Steve had just wiped. “Thanks, Sleeping Beauty.” 

Steve barked a laugh. “Sleeping Beauty? Okay, sure, right. You cut the wheel so hard that I went from sleeping to flying face-first into your bony ass shoulder, so, like, not the best nap ever.”

Billy took off his sunglasses and gave Steve a sultry, sleepy-eyed gaze. “Guess you wanted me to kiss you awake instead. Am I your knight in shining armor, King Steve? Your Prince?”

“Yep,” Steve said, popping the _p_. A blush spread up his neck. 

“Maybe tomorrow morning, pretty boy.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Steve said around a mouthful of nugget. 

“Not my style.” Billy leaned over and laid a wet, sloppy kiss on Steve’s cheek. 

Steve shoved Billy back, laughing. “Get the fuck off of me!” He rubbed at the spot Billy had left on his cheek and stole a quick side glance. “Watch the _road_ or you’ll kill us both, jesus.”

Billy returned his gaze to the road, and he didn’t bother trying to cover up the giant fucking grin that took over his face. 

**~*~**

The road map crumbled in Steve’s hands as he slid hard into Billy’s shoulder. The Dune Climb sign flew past as Billy hightailed it into the lot, tires screeching as he stopped to pay the fee at the park ranger’s booth. 

“Slow down, son,” the ranger said as he handed over the parking pass. “That sand isn't going anywhere.” 

“Yes sir.” Billy put on his best angelic smile, taking the pass and placing it on his dash. “Sorry about that.” 

The ranger sniffed and Billy peeled off again into the parking lot. 

“You’re a fucking douchebag, you know that?” Steve said with a smile in his voice. 

“Not the first to tell me that, and you won’t be the last.” Billy pulled into a spot, leaned over his steering wheel, and gazed upward. 

A mountain of sand rose in front of them, reaching up toward the bright blue sky. On the other side of the crest, according to the flyer Steve had shown him, the sand and grassy terrain stretched out for nearly two miles before they reached their destination for the afternoon: Lake Michigan. A few rows of cars had already filled in -- children and their parents scrambled up the sand, some racing, some walking slowly, some sitting down in the middle of the dune, exhausted. 

They grabbed their backpacks from the trunk for the day trip. Billy stuck his tongue out, satisfaction unwinding in his gut as he licked his bottom lip gratuitously in the face of this challenge. 

Steve turned to face Billy with Ray-Bans in place, brown hair flopping around in the wind. He stretched his arms over his head and his shirt rode up -- from behind his reflective aviators, Billy was able to take a long look at the trail of hair leading down from Steve’s belly button to the waistband of his shorts. Steve grabbed the straps of his backpack, shifted his weight between his feet, and nodded toward the dune. “Ready?” 

The unspoken challenge crackled between them, charged like electricity, as they set their sights to the top. He wished he had a fucking stopwatch. They competed over _everything_ \-- from one on one basketball behind Steve’s house to who could make a PB&J sandwich faster to whose bottle rocket could travel the farthest (Hopper was _not_ amused at the last one when one of them ended up setting old lady Johnson’s hedges on fire). 

Billy wasn’t certain which he liked more: the adrenaline rush of his own victory or the way Steve would crowd into Billy’s space, gloating, hissing _say I’m your king, Billy_ too close to Billy’s ear when he won. 

He bounced three times on the balls of his feet -- quads and calves and hamstrings tense and ready to spring forward. “Need a head start, sweet lips?”

Steve bit his lip and faced the hill. “Not really. See ya on the other side,” he said, and started _sprinting_. 

Billy bolted after Steve’s bouncing backpack, but he knew the race was already as good as lost. “Fuck off, Steve, fuckin asshole!” Billy hollered. A mother nearby stared daggers at him, and honestly, fuck her too.

Billy heard Steve laughing ahead of him and that sound lit a fire that started from the tips of Billy’s toes and shot up through his legs. He dug his feet into the sand. Maybe the most frustrating feeling of his _life_ was trying to plant his feet and piston his legs only to sink down with every step. He leaned forward to place his hands on the dune and _scrambled_ , though Steve was flying up the sand like a goddamn gazelle on long, slender legs. 

Billy dug deep and pushed hard, and after five hard lunges forward and upward, he was on Steve’s heels. He wolf whistled upward. “This _view_. You got a _nice ass_ , Steve,” Billy said loudly. Maybe he was only trying to distract Steve, but honestly he could see up Steve’s shorts -- to the line of his black briefs underneath, and fuck he wished he could reach up and touch the seam. 

_That_ caught Steve off-guard and he faltered for a few seconds as he turned to look down over his shoulder at Billy, and that pause was enough for Billy to hustle forward, grab Steve by the backpack, and shove him down gently to the sand below. 

It was a dirty move, but it might have been the only opportunity Billy would have to _beat_ Steve. The sand ahead stood clear of people, summer sun waiting ahead of him -- Billy pressed his advantage and took one, two, three sliding-sinking steps forward in the sand and then. 

And then Steve’s hand found Billy’s ankle and tugged him down. Billy landed face-first in the sand and he felt his pride burn up and seep right out of him. “View from right here’s not bad either,” Steve said before he pulled ahead, and that was that. The race was as good as over.

Billy wiped sand from his face to watch Steve ascend like he was simply climbing the stairs at Hawkins High two at a time. His white Adidas scrambled through the dune, and the blue sky blazed brightly ahead of him. 

Billy punched the sand three times with his left fist as if it had personally insulted him.

As he got back up on his feet and started moving forward, Steve arrived at the top, looked down, and tapped his watch. “Daylight’s wasting. You taking a nap or something? We got places to _be_ , Hargrove.” 

Billy closed the distance between them and thought back to two weeks ago. With Henderson away at camp, Steve had been calling Billy to come over nearly daily. He floated on a raft in the pool, arms folded over the pool ledge, squinting up at Billy, sunlight glinting in his wet hair. _Wanna get out of town? Go, like, camping for a few days or something?_ he’d asked. _Nothin better to do_ , Billy said -- feigned playing cool. Threw in a one-shouldered shrug for effect as he imagined sitting under the stars with Steve, alone, pressed together, side by side.

At the top of the dune, Billy shoulder checked Steve, who stumbled sideways and landed ass-first in the sand with a yelp. “At least I still know to plant my feet.” 

On the basketball court months ago, when Billy leaned down and grabbed Steve’s hand, he’d shoved him back down to the gym floor, words filled with venom. 

When he grabbed Steve’s hand today, though, Billy winked and Steve smiled before Billy pulled him up to his feet. Steve shoved his shoulder, muttered _dumbass_ , and they began their trek to Lake Michigan.

**~*~**

The counterbalance of swimming in the lake’s chilly waters was to stretch across a beach towel slathered in suntan oil and soak up the sun’s heat. After the dune climb, the two mile hike, and swimming for a couple of hours, Billy felt boneless lying there. _Sated_ and limp. The warmth on top of that made him feel sleepy -- a little drunk. The occasional cool breeze from the lake teased his skin -- brought out goosebumps and made the tall dune grass rustle and wave. 

Steve was lying a foot away, eyes closed. Billy stole glances from behind the crook of his elbow at little moles and light tan skin. 

And that’s when Steve’s eyes opened and caught Billy’s gaze. 

Billy’s heart picked up, rabbit-fast, but Steve said, “You have a ... Ahh, here. Lemme get it.” 

He reached over and plucked a long blade of grass from Billy’s shoulder. “There.” A beat passed, and then his fingers returned to brush away grains of sand, at first with fast movements that started to slow. They lingered too long and brushed with long, lazy strokes.

Billy had batted _multitudes_ of hands away from his skin over the last few years. Date after date he left them wanting, shoving hands off of his chest, gripping wrists when fingers slide below his waistband, removing palms from cupping his ass. _Not tonight, sweetheart_. He’d acted his way through enough dates to let them think he was interested. To let them think he liked the curve of their breasts and lipstick on his neck. All of that certainly helped his reputation at school. Hard to get. Even _more_ desirable. 

No one had ever succeeded in getting their hands on Billy’s dick. _Ever_. It was entirely too easy to look at some girl and hide behind the _you’re not worthy_ front when his secret was so guarded that he only indulged late at night with his hands down his briefs, quiet -- so quiet, and imagined what it might be like to hold the weight of another man’s cock in his hand, to stroke him off into orgasm. To taste come on his tongue. To be bent over and _fucked_.

And now Steve was touching Billy’s shoulder. Steve had his hands on Billy’s skin, eyes snapping up every few seconds to Billy’s face like he was expecting to be rebuffed, brushing away sand that might not even be there with touches too soft to have much of an effect on wayward sand anyway but enough to make goosebumps rise on his skin. 

So for the first time, Billy allowed himself to be touched, in this secluded part of the beach with rustling grass and warm sun and Steve’s long fingers.

**~*~**

The tent assembly went _much_ quicker than Billy had anticipated. Honestly he’d envisioned an hour of bickering and probable shoving where one of them would end up eating dirt, but it ended up being one hundred percent Steve giving gentle orders and Billy listening, doing what he was told, and then Steve’s tent was up. It was a small three man tent, enough to only fit two grown men comfortably along with their stuff in reality, but Billy was okay with getting close and cozy at night. As he hammered in the last of the stakes, he found himself daydreaming about the night to come. 

Steve set up the sleeping bags, pillows, and overnight bags in the tent while Billy pulled the cooler and wood bundles from the car for the fire. Maybe the only useful thing Neil ever taught Billy was how to start a fire, and Billy was fucking _good_ at it. Within ten minutes he’d started a decent flame at the campsite’s fire pit, found a couple of good sticks for roasting, and got the hot dogs out of the cooler. He held four hot dogs over the flame as Steve zipped up the tent and sprayed himself with some mosquito repellant.

He sat in the folding chair next to Billy -- pulled it close and traded the sticks for the spray. 

“So what’s with the Henderson kid?” Billy asked as he stood and sprayed himself ( _you’ll get fucking eaten **alive** if you don’t. Mosquitos in those thick woods will take the Camaro for a drive if you’re not paying attention_, Steve warned him last night as they knocked back a few cans of beer on his patio). 

“What about him?” 

Billy used another stick to poke a log in the fire and took his seat. “I just -- don’t get it. Why are you voluntarily hanging out with these little shits? I got saddled with Max so it’s not like I had much of a choice. I guess I just don’t fucking get it, man. He’s irritating as shit.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. “He sort of picked me, you know?” His earnest tone made Billy immediately feel like a fucking jackass. “Just ran into me outside the Wheelers’ and got in my car, demanded a ride, and I ... I just went with him. He needed me.” He fiddled for a moment with the stick between his fingers -- looked down at them. “I don’t have a little brother or sister, so, like, I lost out on that. And I like that feeling, you know?” 

Billy pulled his roasting stick from Steve’s fingers. “What feeling?” 

Steve bit his lip and chewed a couple times before puffing a breath. “To be needed. To be _important_ to someone.” 

A comfortable silence fell between them -- Billy let it serve as his answer. He knocked his knee once to Steve’s, and Steve glanced over at him and got this stupid little smirk on his lips. “And I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about with this ‘saddled with Max’ bullshit, either. I heard you’ve been _nice_ to her lately.” 

Billy pulled out the condiments and buns. “I’m never nice.” 

Steve turned down the ketchup but took the mustard. “That Clash t shirt that she found laid out on her bed. Like a cute little crop top. I guess that must’ve been from her mom, huh?” 

Billy shrugged. “Sure as fuck wouldn’t have been from my dad. He’d never let her out of the house with that.” 

“Yeah Susan seems like a big Clash fan. Maybe she picked it up at JCPenney or some shit.”

“Ya never know, Harrington. Sometimes people surprise you. I don’t appreciate the implication that _I_ picked that thing out. I wouldn’t touch that shit with a ten foot pole.” Billy took a bite of his hot dog.

Steve pulled a couple of beer bottles from the cooler and handed one over. “You took her to see _Fright Night_.” 

“Jesus christ she _nagged_ me to fucking death to take her. Have you heard her whine before? Because I have, pretty boy, and I can hear it my goddamn _sleep_.” He tried his best to imitate her annoyed, huffy tone: _Billy, come onnnn, just this once, please?_ ” He finished off his hot dog. “If I wouldn’t have caved, she would’ve been relentless with it, so. Really I was saving _myself_.” 

Steve grinned at Billy and took a swig of his beer. “Huh, okay. So I guess you can bullshit your way through being nice to Max. But I happen to know that you’ve been babysitting Erica Sinclair for _free_ so that Max can see Lucas.” 

Billy laughed. “I babysat Erica Sinclair because Mr. Sinclair got two tickets to fucking _KISS_ from some client. He told me he’d give them to me in exchange for watching Erica every Friday for a month so that he could have a date night with his wife.” 

Steve leaned over and said quietly, “That was eight Fridays ago, Billy.”

“Listen, do you want to go see KISS with me on the 28th or _not_?” Good thing the sun was starting to dip below the forest canopy, the shadows from the trees growing longer -- Billy felt his cheeks flush. 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

“Then how about stopping with the fuckin Spanish Inquisition?” 

“The what?”

Billy sighed and drank deeply from his beer bottle. He knew he should’ve made Steve study World History with him instead of letting Steve copy during tests. “Nevermind, King Steve. Stop with the questions, and I’ll take you to see KISS.” 

“Mmm. Solid deal. It’s a date.” 

Billy drank the rest of his bottle and looked up to the stars above, just revealing themselves in the night sky, away from Hawkins, away from everything and everyone who might judge him for making a date with Steve Harrington. 

**~*~**

When the cool nighttime air wandered in, the liquor made an appearance, making Billy feel warm and loose. They pressed side by side in front of the fire, leaning over the arms of the folding chairs to talk, stories of childhood mischief told in low, conspiratorial tones, their voices mingling with the crackle of the fire. They talked until the flames burned low and forgotten. 

Billy bobbled a bit as he stood to mind the fire on unsteady legs. He tripped over his own feet then flopped back on his ass, his back pressed to Steve’s legs, laughing, face flaming with embarrassment. Steve threw his other leg over Billy’s shoulder, his calf pulling Billy back for a moment. “You gotta serve your penalty now. Too drunk. Two minutes in the box, Hargrove. Stay put.” 

Billy wrapped his fingers around Steve’s ankle, on top of his jeans. “That’s what I get for trying to be light on my feet like you.” 

“Callin me light in the loafers?”

“I’m callin you a pussy.” Billy’s hand remained on Steve’s ankle. His back was still pressed against Steve’s shin, and his fingers started to drift under the hem of Steve’s jeans -- touching a small bit of skin underneath. Maybe he should _not_ be doing this. Maybe Steve wouldn’t like it.

But the moment Billy shifted forward, Steve tugged Billy back into place with the leg that was flung over Billy’s shoulder -- pulled Billy’s back tight against Steve’s leg. “Stay.”

Billy froze. 

“I mean. You don’t have to get up. If you don’t want.” 

“Yeah,” Billy’s fingers remained on Steve’s ankle and rubbed, just a little bit, and the hair of Steve’s ankle rough against the pad of Billy’s finger. The words tripped from his mouth. “I don’t want to get up. I’m, yknow. Too drunk and all that.” 

They stayed like that for another half hour, Billy resting against Steve’s shins, his hand loosely wrapped around Steve’s ankle. He was too tired from the day’s activities and a bit too boozed up to continue maintaining the fire after the embers became too cool. Steve doused them with water and they headed for the tent. 

Not long after they slid into their sleeping bags, Billy could see the outline of Steve shivering inside of his bag. 

Billy sat up. “You’re cold.” 

“I’m not.” The bag continued shivering.

“Sure, okay. Let’s pretend for a second you _are_ , though. Our bags can zip together, and in this hypothetical situation, you’d warm up. I run hot when I sleep.”

Steve’s head popped out of the blanket, and even in the dark where Billy couldn’t see any defined shapes, he could still see Steve’s hair sticking up in all directions. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, dumbass. Come on.” 

Billy heard a long zip and the shifting of fabric next to him. He unzipped his own bag until it was open, and then Steve’s shoulder was bumping against Billy’s as he shuffled in close. 

“Uhm. Hang on,” Steve said, voice rough from their night of booze and talking. “Lemme just--” He reached up toward the head of the tent, and the tent was flooded with the soft light from Steve’s lantern. 

Billy lined the edge of his bag against Steve’s and they jammed the zipper part of one bag under the pull tab of the other and joined their bags together. Billy found himself pressed against Steve’s entire body -- long and lean, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. And still shivering.

The appropriate thing to do here would be to sleep back-to-back. But Steve was cold and was facing Billy, and Billy remembered Steve’s fingers brushing sand from his shoulder. Steve pulling Billy back against his legs. Steve’s furtive glances by Lake Michigan. And suddenly, Billy felt just a little bolder. He turned to face Steve and lifted up his arm. Tried to calm the rabbiting of his heart and pull off casual. Nonchalant. “Cmere Steve.”

Steve came willingly enough, pressing his body tight to Billy’s. He butted his head up under Billy’s chin, cold nose pressed to Billy’s chest. Billy felt Steve’s arm placed slowly, so gently, over Billy’s side, and jesus yeah the guy’s arms _were_ cool against Billy’s skin. 

And his hair smelled like campfire.

Billy lowered his arm over Steve’s and placed his hand flat over Steve’s back -- willing some of his body heat to warm Steve. He flexed and spread his fingers along the skin. “Better?” 

“Yeah. You’re like a furnace,” Steve said against Billy’s skin, breath fanning over Billy’s chest. Billy’s nipple tightened at the sensation. 

“You’re, like, cold as a fucking Otter Pop. Fuck.”

Steve’s chilly toes found Billy’s shin and Billy _yelped_. “Don’t complain if you didn’t want to actually help.”

“It’s like you just wandered from an hour-long siesta in a walk-in freezer or some shit and I-”

Steve kissed him. 

One second Billy was bitching and the next Steve’s mouth was on his, the kiss a little awkward at first, landing more at the corner of Billy’s mouth. Steve’s hands were splayed flat over Billy’s back and moved slowly up, like a _lover_ would do, like a rotating cast of girls had already _done_ to Billy right before he pulled their hands away -- Becky, Rhonda, Rita, Lucy -- and now it was _Steve_ who had his hands on Billy, but he wasn’t about to stop Steve. 

In that moment, he was ready to hand Steve a fucking crown if he’d asked for it. 

Billy wondered at what point he’d fallen asleep, when had he started this dream, this one where Steve interrupted him by _kissing_ the words from his lips, pulling back to change the angle -- sweet, short, teasing pecks followed by a long press of his lips while his shin slid up over Billy’s and if Billy made a desperate sound in his throat at that, well. 

Steve pressed forward, his lips insistent against Billy’s, and when Billy licked across Steve’s lips, Steve parted them open, letting him lick his way into Steve’s mouth, Steve’s tongue sliding against his own before Billy pulled back and placed a kiss to Steve’s chin. To his nose. “Feeling warmer now?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said breathily. “Fuck, yeah, I am Billy.” 

“Mmm.”

Steve closed his eyes, and Billy decided to take his time with this -- slowed up on it and kissed down along Steve’s neck, vaguely noting a couple little moles in the lantern’s light, which added a surreal slanted angle of illumination. His fingers slid lower, touching the pair of little indents in Steve’s back, just above his ass. 

The wind rustled the branches outside of the tent and Billy listened to the sounds around him -- to the leaves whispering, the cricket’s chirp, the wet press of his lips to Steve’s skin sounding obscene inside the tent’s tight space.

By the time Billy had finally worked his way to Steve’s collarbone, though, Steve began snoring softly. 

Billy paused mid-kiss and glanced up. Steve’s head was tilted downward at an awkward angle -- Billy tugged the pillow over and Steve blinked awake as Billy pulled it under his head. He reached over to switch off the lamp and Steve resettled himself against Billy’s chest -- sleep came not long after he had settled with his nose buried in the tufts of Steve’s hair. 

**~*~**

The awkwardness of the next morning was resolved the moment that Steve reached down to touch Billy’s hand as they loaded their tackle box and rods onto a little boat, his fingers sliding between Billy’s. After a quick glance to ensure they were alone, Billy pressed a quick kiss to Steve’s neck as he climbed in. Steve kissed Billy’s lips once and said, “douchebag” with a bashful little smile, and they rowed their way down to the river just a bit to go fishing. 

Billy should’ve known that it wasn’t going to be long before their rods sat untended, simply because the way Steve couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself as Billy guided their boat into an area of riverbank walled off by tall grass curling in from the river and leaves of overhanging branches shielding from above. 

Steve was _handsy_ though, touching Billy’s thighs as he rowed, growing bolder as they slipped the boat into the hidden nook, sliding up, up, laughing as he threatened to catch more fish. Because of course fishing would now be competitive. 

For seven entire minutes they gave fishing an honest effort. Steve tied lures on the lines, and they cast into the shimmering water below, Steve watching the water from behind his Ray-Bans, Billy smoking a cigarette, waiting. 

If there were honestly fish in this water, Billy had no idea. He held his rod while Steve moved and sat next to him, placing a hand on his knee. Steve’s breath fanned over Billy’s neck. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the spot where Billy’s neck met his shoulder. 

“Playin dirty today huh.” Billy’s voice came out much huskier than he’d like. 

Steve kissed higher up Billy’s neck, right under his earlobe. “Baby you haven’t _seen_ me play dirty yet.” His hand slid up from Billy’s knee to the inside of his thigh, squeezing the flesh there before his fingers teased the inside of Billy’s shorts -- not fully diving underneath, but touching with blunt fingertips the skin hidden just under the hem. 

Billy’s shorts started tenting. He placed his rod into the holder when Steve began kissing along his jaw. With his hands free, Billy took Steve’s face between his hands and forgot all about the fucking fish in the Platte River or any goddamn competition because his dick was _aching_ and he was ready, finally, to make this happen with someone. 

When Steve’s tongue touched Billy’s, the heavens opened up. Immediately the rain drenched their clothes. Steve pulled off his sunglasses and laughed. “You gotta be kidding me.” 

Billy ducked his head, grabbed the oars, and set to work on rowing them back to their campsite as quickly as possible. By the time they actually made it to the tent, trying to dodge the sheets of rain by running under the cover of branches, they were sopping wet and laughing.

Steve fumbled with the tent zipper, Billy right at his back, waiting impatiently while the rain continued -- Steve finally managed to get the flap open and they tumbled in, Billy on top of Steve, laughing, but then Steve suddenly _stopped_ laughing and looked up at how Billy was straddling him. 

Steve’s hands ran up Billy’s sides, under his tank top, fingers pressing to Billy’s skin and he tried to lift Billy’s tank up and off, peeling the wet shirt up, kissing along Billy’s ribs but the fucking _tent flap was still open_ and somehow his back was getting even _more wet_. “Whoa whoa, Steve, hang on, wait,” Billy panted and leaned back to try and fuck with the tent flap. 

He tried to ignore the way his erection tented up obscenely, pointing up at Steve through his shorts which were soaking wet and plastered against his dick, and Steve started touching it lightly, tracing its length on top of the wet fabric as Billy’s fingers fumbled and fumbled and fumbled. “Fuck. _Steve_.”

Steve laid his palm flat against it and pressed down, rubbing back and forth, his eyes fixed on his own hand as Billy watched from where he was leaning back, his view of Steve’s hand on his dick just fucking _delightful_ and fuck he wished he had a Polariod on hand. 

Billy’s fingers were _shaking_ now and finally, with one fucking heroic effort, he managed to zip the bottom of the flap closed. The rain was now trapped on the outside, muffled pattering against the tent, and the air inside the tent stayed still, filled only by Billy panting, sitting on Steve’s lap as Steve palmed Billy, then wrapped his fingers around Billy’s cock as much as the fabric would allow. “Steve,” Billy hissed and sat up straight in Steve’s lap. 

Steve began stroking. Billy pumped his hips up into the circle of Steve’s fingers, and he placed his hands on Steve’s shoulders. Steve glanced up at him, eyes big and brown and beautiful. “Yeah? That good?” 

“Please,” Billy said. He didn’t even know what he wanted -- what he might have been pleading for. “Please.” He rolled his hips and felt Steve’s erection pressing against his ass. 

Steve dipped his fingers inside of Billy’s waistband, pulling it away from Billy’s body carefully, stretching the elastic so it wouldn’t touch Billy’s dick, the look on his face like he was carefully unwrapping a Christmas gift. “Fuck, Billy,” Steve said. 

A few beats passed as they sat still, Steve regarding Billy’s cock, jutting out hard and pink and straining toward Steve. Billy felt Steve shift and roll his dick against Billy’s ass and fuck if that cock wasn’t _big_. Steve licked the palm of his hand once, twice, and wrapped it around Billy, stroking his hand up slowly from the base to the tip, running the pad of his thumb over the slit before sliding back down again and Billy thought he might slip into a new plane of existence, he might have just ascended with Steve’s hand wrapped around him. Steve pumped his erection against Billy’s ass over and over. 

Billy rolled his hips, sliding forward to fuck Steve’s fist, back to press the curve of his ass to Steve’s dick. It wasn’t long, only five, six, and seven thrusts before his balls tightened and he felt it happening. “I’m gonna come,” he ground out. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, speeding up his hand on Billy’s dick. “Yeah come on.”

Billy stilled and shot once over Steve’s fingers, again, harder this time, up to Steve’s chest -- on his t-shirt, once more up to Steve’s belly before he slowed to leaking over Steve’s hand. 

Out of nowhere, he felt tears spill from the corners of his eyes. Steve touched his cheek with his other hand. “Hey. Hey, cmere,” Steve said, and pulled Billy down by the back of his neck. Steve pressed his lips to Billy’s, the kiss long and tender. “You okay?” 

Billy’s throat felt thick, so he just nodded and glanced down. 

“Here,” Steve said, and lifted Billy’s wet tank top the rest of the way off. 

Billy took it and used it to clean himself off and Steve wiped his hand on it before taking off his own shirt, tossing them to the side. Billy climbed off and sat next to Steve. It was only then that he noticed the darker spot on the crotch of Steve’s shorts. “When did that happen?” he asked as Steve kicked off his shoes and tugged off his shorts and underwear to reveal a _truly_ impressive cock, even as it was softening. 

“Ah. yeah,” Steve looked a little sheepish. “Right before you did.” He slid into the open sleeping bag, tugging Billy to sidle in with him. Billy climbed in and they zipped up, cocooned up inside by the air smelling of wet earth and rain and sex. Steve traced Billy’s jaw. “You just looked so sexy on me like that. So good -- I couldn’t help it. Watching you come undone like that on me just made me feel fucking wild, yknow? Made me insane.” 

Billy felt the rabbiting of his heart calm a bit, slow and steady now. His hands found Steve’s skin -- ran over his chest, exploring. 

“Your eyes are still red.” Steve’s legs tangled with Billy’s inside of the bag. 

“Yeah. I -- sorry. About all of that.” Billy’s heart sank at the thought of Steve thinking that he was some sort of bitch that was gonna cry whenever he got off. 

“It’s okay. Seriously. I just wondered what was going on.” 

Billy puffed a breath. “I’ve never. Uhm.” 

Steve smiled. “With a guy? Me neither.” 

“I mean never.” Hot shame started to well up in his stomach. “With anyone. Even a chick.” 

Steve blinked. “Seriously?” 

“Fuck off, Harrington.” Billy started to shove down the zipper. 

“No no no hey, hey, cmere. I didn’t mean it like that, come _here_ Billy.” Steve tugged Billy back down by the wrist. “I just thought you were like, a ladies’ man or some shit.”

Billy let Steve zip them back up. “Nah. Wasn’t interested. Not really, anyway.” 

Steve picked up Billy’s hand and kissed his wrist. Kissed his palm. “So you’re interested in me?”

Approximately one thousand smartass comebacks landed on Billy’s tongue. He worked hard to bite back every single one of them. “Yeah, King Steve. I am.” 

Billy leaned forward and kissed Steve, slowly, lazily. Let the afternoon minutes roll by as the rain slowed to an irregular _taptap_ overhead, and they dozed, sated. 

**~*~**

The sun came out long enough to chase away the residual humidity, leaving Billy and Steve to enjoy a few hours of warmth. They trekked back to Lake Michigan, tossed a football around for a while, and went for a swim. One more time they laid their blankets on the beach in a spot hidden behind grass, where they heard sounds of rolling waves, children shouting far off in the distance, and the occasional screech of a seagull. 

Billy felt warm from the sun’s heat. Warm from playing around on the beach and in the water. And warm because of the way Steve touched his hair -- the way Steve kissed the little birthmark on the back of his left shoulder and traced it and said, _this right here? This is mine. You’re mine, baby_. 

When the world turned gold around them, the sun just a sliver above the lake, they returned to the campsite and ate hot dogs and threw back a few beers. It gradually grew dark around them and the fire’s embers burned hot. They roasted marshmallows to make s’mores. Steve laughed as the marshmallow goo oozed out from between Billy’s graham crackers, dribbling down his finger. “Here,” Steve said, pulling Billy’s finger into his mouth. His tongue swirled around Billy’s finger and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked. Billy leaned over and licked the sweetness from Steve’s lips and they kissed, wet and sloppy this time. 

In the stillness of the tent Billy knelt between Steve’s spread legs, Steve panting above him as Billy licked his cock, long and so big. He tried taking it all but fuck if it seemed to grow even _larger_ in his mouth, and Billy found he couldn’t take it all the way down, so he resigned himself to sucking the first few inches and using his hand to stroke the base. 

Billy pulled off suddenly. “Ah shit, wait.” 

Steve’s head snapped up, looking down, a little panic in his voice. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“Just-” Billy jammed his fingers into his mouth and fished around. “Got it. Nevermind. One of your pubes.”

Steve’s head fell back to the pillow and he started cackling. “Now _that_ would be a good souvenir. Could you imagine what would - mmm.” 

Billy plunged his mouth back onto Steve’s dick. 

Steve’s hands tangled in Billy’s hair as he thrust up, and Billy used a hand on Steve’s hip to let Steve set a pace that Billy could take, swallowing what he could, using his other hand to fondle Steve’s balls and then that was it -- Steve whispered, “Billy,” and he came, pulsing over Billy’s tongue, and Billy swallowed, pressing a kiss to the head while Steve came down. 

One more time Steve stroked Billy off and this time Steve kissed him through it, his lips pressed to Billy’s when Billy came over Steve’s stomach again. The way Steve looked between Billy’s thighs, blissed out underneath him, hands rubbing up, well. Billy could get used to looking at Steve from this angle.

They climbed into their bag and Steve wrapped himself around Billy’s back. Billy fell asleep to the feeling of Steve’s heart beating against his back, slow and steady. 

**~*~**

Getting ready to leave the next morning was bittersweet -- Billy felt his heart sink as they broke down the tent and packed the car quietly, he knew he was leaving something in these woods, at this lake. 

He slid on his aviators as they pulled away from the dunes campground and onto the road back toward Hawkins. 

Back toward reality. 

Steve’s hand landed on his knee, and Billy reached down to lace their fingers together. Steve said, “You know we’re gonna figure this out, right?” 

Billy leaned back -- tried to play cool while his heart seemed to wrench in his chest. “Figure what out?”

“This. Me and you.” Steve pulled their intertwined hands to his lips and he kissed the back of Billy’s hand. “It won’t be easy but we’ll figure something out.” 

Billy huffed half-heartedly. He wanted to try to scoff but couldn’t find it in him to be _that_ asshole again. 

“It’s just you’re sitting there looking like someone killed your puppy. We can make this work. I mean, if you want to.” Steve looked at Billy, for the first time sounding a little concerned. “Do you want to?”

Billy pulled his fingers from Steve’s hand, and for one short moment, Steve looked crestfallen, until Billy started to play with Steve’s hair. “Yeah. Let’s make it work, pretty boy.” 

Steve smiled. “Good,” he said, and pulled on his Ray-Bans. “Because I’ve faced much scarier shit than being in a relationship with a dude.” 

“Yeah? Like, being prom king was terrifying for you or some shit?” 

Steve leaned over and pressed a kiss to Billy’s neck. “Someday I’ll tell you about it. But this right here? This is a goddamn cakewalk.” 

“Alright then. How would my _boyfriend_ like to put on some music, then?” 

Steve licked his lips. “Yeah. Okay. My choice, though, because my _boyfriend_ has some real shitty taste in music.” 

Billy rolled his eyes but let Steve have his way. 

As they drove south down US-131, Steve popped the cassette in and Prince came pouring from the speakers. 

Billy took Steve’s hand again. 

_I don’t care where we go_  
I don’t care what we do  
I don’t care pretty baby  
Just take me with u. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tracy7307](https://tracy7307.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> KingsAndSaints drew [this](https://kingsandsaints.tumblr.com/post/611066100016431104/billy-bobbled-a-bit-as-he-stood-to-mind-the-fire) amazing art of Steve with his leg over Billy's shoulder! Please go check it out and leave some love!


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